


Me and the Madman

by AnaCumbercookie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-04-06 18:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19068094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaCumbercookie/pseuds/AnaCumbercookie
Summary: Sherlock returned after being deceased for two years, but something about him is wrong. John, who now admits his feelings to himself, is trying to find out what happened in Serbia that changed his best friend so much. But in the process of solving the new case with Sherlock, who gets back to work, John finds out something he wishes he hasn't. But even after that, he can't leave him and so he decides to stay with his friend till the end of the line. Even if it means that they both cross it and come to the dark side.





	1. The Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! You know me as an Instagram video editor, but daaamnn how the tables turned :D One of my latest edits inspired me to start writing this fanfiction and I hope you enjoy it. At any point you can DM me and tell me your propositions, I'd be grateful.  
> So enjoy this scrap hehe :)

He wasn’t like that in the beginning.  
I mean… When I first met him, I thought, he must be a mad man. Brilliant, but mad. It is surprising how often those two traits coincide. But I never, in no darkest dreams could have thought that he would be even more than that. That he would become a monster everybody pictured him like. And that I would so easily stay by his side.

It was about nine in the evening. I sat in my chair and kept staring at the fire in the fireplace in front of me. My eyes were slowly closing and from time to time I could find myself being almost half asleep. Sherlock was standing near the window. I couldn’t see his face, but I could almost feel his tension.

I got used to this. After Sherlock came back from his two years hide-and-seek from the world game, he became much less talkative. Most of the time he would just grab his violin and stare at one point, sharply pulling the strings one by one and making the instrument make strange, twitchy sounds.

At first, I tried to talk to him, like the old days. But he kept dodging, and in the end, all my attempts failed. But I knew something was wrong. Something about him changed and sometimes his silence was driving me crazy even more than any of his irrelevant deductions would in the past.

And when my head almost slipped down my hand and my mind was ready to shut down, I heard his quiet husky voice.

‘Do you ever just…’ Sherlock cleared his throat and slightly turned his head in my direction so that I could see the corner of his eye, ‘Do you ever feel like nothing is the same anymore?’

I opened my eyes in amusement. It was the first time he said something personal to me, not something concerning getting the insides of our refrigerator.  
I sat up in my chair, blinking several times to wake myself up. I looked at him and he immediately looked away in the window again.

‘What do you mean?’

‘When I was there, tied up in a damp underground chamber in Serbia, looking at the floor painted with my own blood, all I could think of was this place,’ Sherlock put the violin down on the table and turned around, not looking at me even for a moment.

His eyes were fixed on the fireplace with some strange look of detachment. It was like he was back there, in that room. I couldn’t look away from his face lightened up by the flames. 

‘I kept thinking about… coming back home,’ Sherlock looked up and our eyes met when he continued, ‘Coming back to you.’

All of a sudden I was out of breath and I prayed he wouldn’t notice. But it’s Sherlock. Of course, he did. But if so, he decided not to show it. His eyes went back to the fire and I looked down, trying to calm myself down. Why was my heart beating so fast?

‘But now when I’m here, it all feels so surreal. Like I don’t belong here,’

‘Of course you do,’ my voice trembled slightly at the beginning, but I did my best to make it sound natural, ‘You just need some time to get used to it. No one can stay the same after going through such stuff,’ 

‘So you think I am not the same?’ Sherlock looked at me as his slanting eyebrows rushed down together in a frown. “Damn it. It is the first time he’s talking to you, John Watson, and you ruin it right away.”

‘No, it’s just…’

‘Don’t,’ he grinned, ‘You are right.’

He relapsed into silence again and only the wood crackled in the fire breaking it. I bit my cheek, trying to stop myself from saying something stupid again.

‘I am sorry,’

His eyes were wet. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe it was just the light from the fire, or maybe it was just my imagination, but Sherlock’s eyes were wet as he continued.

‘If I could go back and do it over again…’ I could feel my heart bumping into my chest and I gripped the armrests of the chair when he came closer and swallowed hard, ‘I would never hurt you like that,’

I could tell him it’s okay. I could tell him that I forgave him the moment he appeared on the doorstep one month ago, fully wet under the falling rain. I could tell him that he could do anything and I would still forgive him because my life was nothing before he came and nothing when he was gone.  
But before I could open my mouth, Sherlock just walked out to the kitchen and a moment later I heard the door of his bedroom shutting.  
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath and then exhaled, letting my head drop on my hands.

Someday I might just explode from everything I keep inside.  
I spent two years sleepless, spending every night just thinking of what would I tell Sherlock if he was alive. How I would confess to him about everything I understood when he was gone.  
But when he appeared, his eyes so distant, his face covered with scars of unknown origin and his mind being completely in another place, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t make myself to say even a word. I just let out some strange sound of surprise and a complete mess of feelings as I threw myself forward pulling him as close as I could.  
He hugged me back.  
And we never spoke of it again.  
Maybe if I told him what I felt, we wouldn’t end up here. In complete anarchy, the cause of which was him.


	2. Beheadings, Lovely Little Village

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to my hilarious attempts of creating something decent here, my fellows :)  
> Hope you'll enjoy this new chapter, which is slightly (or very much) bigger than the first one because it's about time to really stop talking in riddles and reveal the storyline hehe  
> Love you all :3

My hand was shaking. And even though I added my second hand and held the gun with both of them, the gun barrel was still irregularly moving from his chest to his neck. His eyes looked stone-cold as his gaze was slowly hypnotizing me.

‘Are you afraid of me?’

His voice sounded so soft and quiet that I almost felt guilty for my actions. Sherlock tried to take a small step forward, but I tilted my head to the side, pointing the gun at his. He stopped and lifted one of his eyebrows.

‘Don’t,’ I muttered through clenched teeth and put a finger on the trigger. God, I felt this bolt of electricity coursed through me when he slowly smiled. It was that kind of smile you give to a silly child who is acting out when he is told to go to bed.

‘John…’

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I swallowed, making myself continue, ‘The body in the abandoned house. Was it your doing?’

‘Do you think I would be able to do something like that?’

‘I don’t know you anymore,’ every word pierced into my heart. I was looking in these eyes, the colour of which was like the colour of the sea before the storm. So dark the pupils were not even visible. And for the first time in my life, I felt the same horror others usually feel when facing them.

‘We both know it’s not true,’ Sherlock slowly moved closer and for some reason, I froze and couldn’t move even a muscle. His forehead bumped into the gunpoint, his eyes still on me, ‘You always knew what I was about. From the first day. And that is why you stayed. And that is why you killed that taxi driver. Because you knew we were the same…’

‘Stop it,’

‘You killed people, John,’ he was almost whispering now as if he was telling me a secret, ‘Many people. Don’t tell me you didn’t like it…’

I pressed my lips together, my whole body shaking in response to his words. It wasn’t true. Or was it? The thoughts in my head were rushing from side to side and I couldn’t concentrate on anything, but his eyes.

‘You don’t have to pretend with me…’ Sherlock’s hand gently rested on the gun, slowly lowering it down. I closed my eyes, not being able to fight back. I never could.

‘I know who you really are…’ I didn’t even notice how the gun slipped out of my hand and the sound of it falling down on the floor made me flinch, ‘It’s okay. I am here now,’

I could feel his warm breath on my neck. His curls were touching my cheek.

I never felt this way before. Like all of my fantasies came to life, but I never thought it would happen this way.

I exhaled sharply as his hand slipped underneath my shirt as he pulled me closer.

‘I am never leaving you again,’ his lips touched my ear. A strange feeling of warmth went all through my body and I hated myself for it. I heard him chuckle, ‘I’d be lost without my blogger,’

His lips bumped into mine so suddenly I shifted back a little, but he immediately pulled me back and as one of his hands dived into my hair, the other one went all the way down my pants.

I can’t even remember what happened next. It was all like a dream. Chaotic, thrilling and magnificent. His hands all over me. His breath on my skin. His eyes fixed on mine.

I woke up in the middle of the night. I turned my head to see him sleeping peacefully. He looked so innocent. I couldn’t believe that it was this man who almost made me scream on top of my lungs begging for more several hours ago. His face looked almost angelic underneath the light of the moon coming through the window across the room.

I reached my hand out and carefully touched his face with the tips of my fingers. His skin was so cold but soft. If someone told me I would be here, in his bed several weeks ago, I’d laugh in his face. But here I am.  
I moved my hand away and Sherlock frowned in his sleep, his hand groped for mine and a moment later he pulled me closer. His face hid in my neck, making my skin cover with goosebumps from his breath.

‘Don’t go…’ he mumbled quietly. I bit my lip and wrapped my arm around his shoulder, hiding my face in his messed up hair.

‘I won’t,’

Even if I wanted, I never could.

Three weeks before

‘Hu-hu!’

Only one person in the world can make that sound. I turned my head to the right as I felt a warm small hand on my shoulder and smiled.

‘Good morning, Mrs H,’

‘Indeed, dear,’ a big plate with a perfectly fried toast, egg and beans landed on the table right in front of me, ‘Here you go,’

‘You really didn’t have to…’ I started, but she put her hand up stopping me right away.

‘It’s not a difficulty for me to cook you some proper breakfast. I am not letting you leave the house with just a coffee another morning, John Watson,’

I nodded, thanking her, and took a bite of the toast as she watched me with a growing smile.

Suddenly we heard the sound of the bedroom door opening. I could only catch a glimpse of the dark blue silk robe flying after its owner before it disappeared behind the closed bathroom door.  
Mrs Hudson let out a loud sigh as she shook her head in disapproval.

‘You are still not talking, are you?’ she asked carefully, tilting her head.

‘Mrs. Hudson…’

‘I know, I know,’ she put her hands up, ‘It’s none of my business. I am just worried about him. He doesn’t look very good, does he?’

My eyes went to the shut door, behind which the water loudly started to run.

"I don’t have friends. I just have one…"

I looked down quickly, biting into the toast and blinking away the wetness in my eyes.

‘No, but he doesn’t talk to me…’ I felt Mrs Hudson’s hand squeezing my shoulder and I looked up to see her smiling sympathetically.

‘It’s going to be fine, dear. Give him some time. We both know there is no one in this world Sherlock trusts as he trusts you,’

“I wouldn’t be so sure about it…”

I forced myself to reply to her with the faintest trace of a smile. It was enough.

Mrs Hudson quickly said her goodbyes and went back to her little kingdom of never-ending TV morning shows and radio, leaving me alone with a ghost of someone I used to know.

Speaking of that ghost.

I almost had a heart attack when he appeared in the kitchen not wearing anything, but undies and a wide-open robe. I swallowed hard as I tried not to trace the tiny water drops going down his torso and looked down at my royal breakfast. I was sure that I wouldn’t take even a bite now.

‘Good morning,’

‘Morning…’ I mumbled, hiding my face in a coffee cup. He pressed his shoulder against the fridge, folding his arms on the chest.

‘Are you free today?’

“Are you asking me out?” I barely managed to not laugh at my own thoughts out loud.

I looked up and the look on Sherlock’s face made me hold my breath.  
He finally shaved. Sherlock Holmes shaved for me. Well, I’d like to think he did it for me.  
He looked exactly like he used to, he was even giving me the same slightly haughty glance. The only sign of the change were small scars on his cheekbones and forehead that hadn’t healed just yet.

‘Ghm, sorry?’ I cleared my throat, arching eyebrows in surprise.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gracefully stalked to the kettle, turning the stove on.  
‘Lestrade called me. They found a body in the abandoned house somewhere in suburbs,’ he turned around, trying to hold back the smirk, ‘It’s beheaded,’

‘For God’s sake, Sherlock…’ I sighed while continuing to hypnotize my breakfast victim sandwich. I would never expect myself to get so excited and happy about somebody’s beheaded body, ‘A person was murdered,’

‘So?’ his eyebrows slid up his forehead in the most innocent way. I bit my lip, smiling.

‘It shouldn’t be so entertaining for you. People will assume you are the one to blame for it,’

At that moment I thought I made it up. But looking back now I understand that it was the moment I should’ve got it.  
Sherlock’s smile disappeared and his face assumed a strangely cold expression that made me freeze for a moment. Just for a second. And then it was gone.

‘People do little else,’ he quickly retired from the room, stopping before the door to give me a sliding look, ‘Get dressed. I’ll call the cab,’

‘Y-you want me to come?’ I knew I sounded desperate and I didn’t care about it. For once in my life, I was not afraid of what he would think of me.

Sherlock squeezed the doorknob and turned around, giving me the softest smile I’ve ever experienced seeing on his face. My heart officially declared its death.  
‘Of course. I’d be lost without my blogger,’

The bedroom door closed. The kettle whistled announcing its readiness.

The blood in my ears kept pumping as I stood up and rushed up the stairs to my bedroom. I shut the door behind myself, pressing my back to it. I closed my eyes.

‘Boys! The kettle!’ Mrs Hudson tried to shout above the amplifying whistle.  
I closed my eyes.

“He is back,”

‘John! Sherlock! The kettle!’

A smile gradually grew on my face.

‘I swear, I’m coming up and you’ll have it all!’

I bit my lip, suppressing the laughter.  
“He is back. And nothing else matters,”

‘Jane Underwood. Thirty-eight years old, married, two kids,’ Greg said in an almost casual tone as Sherlock and I followed him up the stairs.

The house wasn’t just abandoned: it was nearly falling apart. The heavy smell of already begun rotting process and the total air humidity made me close nose and mouth and stop myself from a natural reaction. This smell was too familiar from my Afghanistan past when I had to cut off my best friend’s leg that couldn’t be saved on my own under the unstopping shooting. Good ol’ days.

‘She’s upstairs. I tried my best to keep the examiners out of there, but you don’t have any more than 10 minutes,’

One by one we slipped under the yellow line we learned to ignore over the years as we approached the last floor.  
Greg opened the door and walked in, leaving it open for us. I already headed in the direction of the growing awful smell, mentally preparing myself for the worst picture, when a sharp movement of Sherlock’s hand on my chest pushed me back and pressed my back against the wall. Before I could resent or get surprised a large chunk of old plaster from the ceiling fell down on the spot where I had been standing a few seconds ago.  
A thundering crash echoed through the stairwell. The bustle of the policemen on the lower floors stopped and a dozen heads popped out from different levels.  
The grip on my chest slowly loosened as I tried to slow down my breathing.

Sherlock slightly frowned as his eyes quickly moved up and down my body, stopping on mine.

‘Are you, guys, okay?’ I heard Lestrade’s voice muffled like I suddenly went underwater, ‘I forgot to tell you that here they have very weak…’

I couldn’t hear him anymore.  
My gaze involuntarily fell on Sherlock’s lips. They were slightly opened and he was so close I could swear that if I moved three inches closer… Maybe it was just the stupid adrenaline rushing through my blood or the fact that he just “rescued” me on in front of the whole police station, but just for a second, I felt like he also thought about it and even got a little closer.  
Sherlock quickly shifted backwards, his hand slipping down my chest. He awkwardly pressed his lips together and I finally noticed about six people, who just walked out of the crime scene, looking at us like they just saw something paranormal. Well, seeing Sherlock looking uncomfortable must be such a thing after all.

‘Thank you…’ I mumbled and walked through the doorway with my head down, trying not to face anyone. Including Sherlock. I heard him quietly follow me and closing door behind us.

Now when we were finally here, all of my previous thoughts instantly scattered.  
In a dark room, lightened by ultraviolet and usual lights, surrounded by broken, dusty furniture, was lying the body of a woman. It was dressed in an almost fully destroyed office suite of dark violet colour. And even though the head was unmistakably missing, all around her were wisps of tangled brown hair, drowning in dark thick liquid spreading all around it.  
I swallowed hard, stopping in several steps from it. From her.  
Sherlock didn’t.

He passed me and Lestrade, whose facial expression was a strange mix of disgust and pity, came right to the line, where the pretty fresh bloodstains started and said without even the slightest tremor in his voice:  
‘This is a remarkable case, Lestrade. Thank you,’ his hand dived into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small set of instruments, ‘Let’s start then,’


	3. Spock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Okay, that was very fast :D This chapter isn't that long, but I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> All the love Xx

Sherlock had been circling around the body for about a minute now. Finally, he understood there was no other way than to stand directly in the bloodstains with his knees and that action was accompanied by Sally Donovan’s irritated sigh.

‘Do you really have to do this, freak?’ she grimaced, leaning closer to get the attention of Sherlock, who calmly lifted up the victim’s sleeve to reveal enormous bruises all over her skin, ‘We have ten more people to work with the body after you and you better not mess up the crime scene,’

‘Don’t worry, sergeant,’ Sherlock sat up to give her an indulgent look, ‘Your people have already done it for me. The integrity of the crime scene can’t be any more damaged,’

Sally snorted with laughter and folded her arms on the chest, looking questioningly at Greg, who sighed wearily like a single father of two always fighting kids.  
‘Just let him work, okay? Go check how the investigation downstairs is going,’

Sherlock smirked at “investigation” and I am sure it took Donovan all of her strength not to snap at him. She marched out of the room, almost pushing me and Greg apart to make her way to the door.

‘I think that soon you’ll have to go around with a lifeguard for your own safety, Sherlock,’ Greg said, smiling at me, pleased with himself. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

‘I already have one,’ he gave me a barely noticeable smirk and leaned back to the body. I shook my head when Greg laughed shortly.

‘I don’t think he’d mind if Sally taught you a lesson for once,’

‘Not at all,’ I replied.

Sherlock ignored our remarks, taking a close look at the woman’s wrist.  
‘I’m glad he’s back on track if you know what I mean…’ Greg whispered to me conspiratorially. I kept looking at Sherlock’s smooth movements. He was picking up one or other piece of the clothes or body part like he was playing some sort of terrifying instrument. I doubted if he ever felt as comfortable with any alive human beings as he did with dead bodies.  
‘You have no idea how much the pile of unsolved cases on my desk grew over these two years,’ he said a little disappointed, ‘I’ve never thought I would need you two so much,’

I gave him a sympathetic look, not really knowing what to say. We both knew he meant Sherlock only. I still remember the time when several weeks after Sherlock “passing” Greg begged me to help him with some strange case of a mysterious vanishing of a well-known American politician, who came here on some sort of business. Even though I knew I would be completely useless on my own, he stood his ground.  
I came to the house of the victim, questioned his wife, who seemed quite relieved with her husband’s disappearing, looked around his office in the house they’d been ranting, but couldn’t find anything to help the case. Greg never asked me this kind of favour again and we ended up just occasionally meeting for a beer.

‘I am done now,’ Sherlock jumped up, blood running down his ankles, and turned to me, ‘You want to take a look?’  
I lifted one eyebrow, being 100% sure he was just teasing me. But when he frowned puzzled, I sighed and took several steps closer. Fighting with myself, I kneeled and leaned closer to the place, where the neck was supposed to end and the head – to start. The place of the cut was so straight and even as if the woman’s head was chopped off by a machine for cutting cheese.

‘Everything is fairly obvious, Lestrade. I have no idea why would you ask us for help,’ Sherlock said bored, ‘Even you could’ve come to a decent conclusion,’

‘Sherlock…’ Greg started, but was interrupted right away.

‘Jane Underwood is known for being arrogant and scandalous. She even has her own revealing secrets of celebrities show on her husband’s TV channel. She had many enemies. No wonder she ended up like this,’ I licked my lips, sitting up and looked up as Sherlock approached fully immersed in his deductions, ‘Her husband, Fred Underwood built his career in the same way: his previous wife was rumoured to be beaten up by him. And what do we see here? Bruises of varying degrees, the ligature marks on her neck and the fact that she’s not wearing the engagement ring are speaking for themselves,’

‘But why would he kill her so violently?’ Greg asked, coming closer. Sherlock rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically.

‘He was aggressive and she clearly started a new relationship judging by the lack of the ring and the lock screen on her phone,’ he handed it to the inspector, ‘Human nature,’

‘It’s not human to do this,’ Greg said, pointing at the neck, ‘It’s monstrous,’

‘Go arrest your monster, inspector,’ Sherlock said, moving to the door, ‘And stop wasting my time…’

‘But, Sherlock!’ I cried. Sherlock turned his head, raising eyebrows in surprise.

‘Yes?’

‘The cut. It’s too straight. He must have used some kind of thread…’

‘Thread?’ he repeated with a sneer.

‘Or string,’ Sherlock’s face hardened. I swallowed hard and turned to the body, pointing at the place of the cut, ‘There are many tendons in this place, which means it must have taken him a lot of time and effort to succeed,’

‘What are you implying?’

‘He must have hurt himself,’ I said with a touch of pride in my manner, ‘Little scratches on fingers, wrists or arms are inevitable,’

‘Wow,’ Greg murmured.  
I smiled, expecting Sherlock to be impressed. He chuckled coldly instead. The unreadable expression came over his face as he gave me a long stare and then turned to Lestrade.

‘He’s right. Check Underwood’s alibi and apparently,’ he sounded mocking, ‘His wrists,’

Greg nodded and Sherlock quickly went out of the room. I froze, truly bewildered. My eyes fixed on the woman’s body. Seems like both of us were left speechless.

I got up, quietly cursing everything and everyone and trying to ignore enormous red stains on my pants. Lestrade opened his mouth in trying to say something, but failed and started looking very busy and calling for examiners. I exited the room, manoeuvring between white-suited people in masks, like a guilty child.

I caught up with Sherlock when he was already waving to a cab on the side of the road. I went over and jerked him sharply by the sleeve of his coat, turning him around.  
He widened his eyes, astonished.

‘What was that?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t tell me I made it up for myself,’ I looked right into his eyes as if I was trying to read his mind. That would be a very useful skill at that moment, by the way, ‘What did I do wrong? I just tried to help,’  
‘And you did,’ he replied sharply. I could see that he was getting annoyed. He always did when we were fighting. Like I was boring him with my stupid social standards of friendship, ‘What is the problem then?’

‘You tell me. You stormed out like you don’t know me. Is it because you missed an important detail and I proved rather useful, forgetting to admire your unique mind?’ I could feel the anger growing inside of me, but Sherlock remained as cold as a stone.

He leaned closer, speaking every word with a notable reproach.  
‘I never miss anything,’ his eyes flashed, but he immediately suppressed his emotions, straitening up, ‘I am glad that you’ve been of use for once,’

It felt like a slap. Right into the feels, as they say. I clenched my jaws and fists, feeling the nails digging into flash.  
I opened my mouth to tell him what I thought about him acting like a complete moron, but before I could, a black shiny cab stopped a meter away from us and Sherlock quickly jumped in, not saying a word. The car sped away as quickly as it appeared.

‘You cock!’ I yelled when the car disappeared around the corner.  
I looked at the empty evening street, panting. He left me standing here in the middle of the road, like some kind of an idiot, my legs covered in blood, so easily. I asked myself again why the hell was I still helping this narcissistic, irritant Spock, who barely appreciated anything I did no matter how much I tried to understand him.

‘I warned you,’

Sally Donovan approached me with a satisfied grin. I sighed, trying to pull myself together.  
‘He dumped you after your first date? How sad,’

‘Indeed he did, Sergeant Donovan,’ I turned to her, making myself sound as coldblooded as I could. I had a lot of experience after all. So many years by Sherlock’s side weren’t an entirely wasted time, ‘Now you can finally try your luck and leave me alone,’

I turned slowly on my heels, marching down the road.  
I didn’t hear a single word behind.

The flames in the ancient fireplace that fronted the foot of the bed cast faint shadows on the rest of the furniture. Mycroft couldn’t stop watching them: they had an entirely aesthetic purpose, the room was too big for them to affect its temperature.  
The fire reminded him of people’s feelings – unpredictable, chaotic and dangerous. It is the greatest weapon human beings ever created. Not even an atomic bomb can give that much damage to one’s life as an irregular heartbeat when he’s looking at somebody he cares about.  
And now Mycroft found himself succumbed to the primal temptations too and became a victim of his own decisions. And there was no one to blame for it. Unless…

‘Mike?’ a sleepy voice whispered, ‘Are you still awake?’

Not waiting for the answer, its owner sat up and put his head on Mycroft’s shoulder. Surprised by himself, Mycroft wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Only his proximity was pleasant for him for some reason.

‘Go to sleep, Gregory,’ he said, looking down at silver-haired head shining under the moonlight, ‘You’ll be babysitting my brother again tomorrow,’

Greg let out a quiet giggle and an unusual warmth spread somewhere inside of Mycroft’s chest. Amusing.

‘You should start paying me for that,’

‘That’s exactly what I’ve been doing for several months now,’ Mycroft smirked, getting a light punch in his shoulder. He brushed his hand through Greg’s hair, ‘It’s really late,’

‘Okay, okay…’ he lied down, patting the empty place next to him, ‘But only if you stop staring at the walls and accompany me,’

Mycroft gave him a mock sigh, poorly concealing the smile, and pressed himself to Greg’s back, covering both of them with a silk sheet. His nose touched the warm skin and he unwittingly breathed in the dizzying scent. His own kind of drug.

‘I feel bad for John. You should tell him what really happened,’ Greg whispered suddenly. Mycroft closed his eyes, feeling his mind slowly shutting down. He hadn’t have any problems with sleep since his bed became no longer empty every night.

‘I will. When the time comes. And when Sherlock allows me to,’

‘Which is never?’

‘Which is never,’


	4. The Last Night of Us Being Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! The new chapter is up and believe me, some crazy stuff begins after it hehe :D  
> So I hope you'll enjoy it! Comment your thoughts, tell me what you think and feel free to contact me on ig to propose your ideas :)  
> All the love XOX

They say humans can get used to anything. Maybe it doesn’t work for me. Or maybe it just doesn’t work for people who are madly in love.

I used to be afraid of that word. I spent years running away from my own heart and suppressing my desires. I got trapped in a hopeless situation and I had no one to blame, but myself. I felt something, but denied it to the point when it was physically painful to be around him.  
And then I lost him. And, as I thought till now, lost any chance to finally set myself free.

I am not even sure which way of losing him was worse: thinking he was dead for two years or him acting like I barely existed now.  
He started to go missing for days. His bedroom door was always shut. I had to start working at the hospital again so I wouldn’t lose my mind in the infinite silence of our flat.

The case of Jane Underwood reached its dead end. Fred Underwood vanished into thin air. None of his entourage could tell when he was last seen. But nobody was surprised by that: this fellow was always very reserved about everything that was going on in his life or business.  
Greg called me the other day saying that they officially close the case for now as a result of lack of any proof if the main suspect was guilty or not.  
As a rule, Sherlock would get very offended by such closure. But this time he seemed absolutely unbothered by that and the only reaction I got from him was:  
‘Whatever happened to him, he deserved it,’

One night I stayed up late, reading a book near the chimney. Well, trying to. For some reason, I couldn’t concentrate on a single word I was reading. My heart was pumping in my chest anxiously for no actual reason. “Well done, John Watson. You went into A-fib in your forties”.  
Finally, I gave up, put the book down on the table aside and got up to go upstairs when I heard a loud bang like something heavy dropped on the floor. I froze, unsure where the sound came from, but then I heard it again, even louder this time. It was accompanied by a strangled moan.  
I slowly moved through the kitchen, grabbing blind a knife from the table. It was so dark I could barely distinguish the white door before me. I stopped when I reached it and looked down at my weapon. The light from the window lit up the knife, the end of which was covered in butter. I swore to myself silently. Years of army service and that’s my first choice?  
I put an ear to the door, waiting for any other sign of somebody’s presence. It’s been several seconds of silence when I heard the bed creaking as someone landed on it with another moan.  
“Damn it,” It must be Sherlock. But what if it’s not? What if it’s some kind of a crazy criminal, who is obsessed with killing both of us? Then my little butter knife won’t be much of a help."  
I grabbed the doorknob, holding my breath. “Whatever…”  
I opened the door violently, ready to punch whoever was there in the windpipe with the knife. I was ready for a junkie, a serial killer, literally anyone. But not that.

The window was fully open from outside, the curtains fluttering in the wind. Right under it, on the floor was lying a black sports bag, almost ripping apart from whatever was inside. Starting from the window there was a trail of bloodstains leading all the way to the bed, where Sherlock was sitting.  
His eyes were closed. He could hardly breathe, grimacing in pain every time he took a breath. His hand was pressed to an enormous blood stain blackened against the white shirt.  
He opened his eyes, a faint smile crossed his mouth like a wispy shadow.

‘J-John…’ his voice quivered, making a shiver run through my body.

‘Sherlock!’

I dropped the knife and fell down on my knees, my face against his waist. My hands were shaking as I touched his hand that was covering the wound.  
“God, please, not again…” was the only thought that kept pumping in my head, “Don’t take him away from me again,”

‘Sh-show me!’ I tried to pull myself together, but seeing Sherlock staggering and almost blackening out wasn’t helping. I touched his hand and it relaxed at once, letting me move it away. I blinked several times to make myself concentrate on what I was looking at, ‘What happened?’

‘I… I got stabbed,’

‘What the…’ I looked up, meeting with his blurry gaze. I was angry, but not even at him. I was angry at myself. He needed me and I wasn’t there. And now he might…  
“No,” I stopped myself, “I am not letting him do that to me again,”

‘Where were you all this time?’ I asked while removing his coat, ‘Why didn’t you call me if you needed help, you idiot…’

‘Do you really want to discuss it now?’ He moaned as I pulled the sleeve of the coat too fast. I froze.

‘Sorry,’

‘It’s okay,’ he swallowed hard, ‘I deserve it,’

I shook my head, throwing the coat on the floor. I returned to the knee position, my eyes stopped near the first button of his shirt. My eyes got all blurry from the wetness and I felt that I could break down any second now.  
I started at a sudden touch of a cold hand on my cheek. I looked up to see Sherlock looking at me with such softness in his eyes as if he wasn’t dying in my arms right now. And for a second I forgot about everything. My heartbeat slowed down and the only thing I could see now was his eyes light up in the dark.

‘It’s okay,’ the corners of his lips twitched up, his hand stroke my cheek, reassuring, ‘You know I’m extremely enduring,’

I couldn’t help it, but laugh quietly. Sherlock smiled back, but sighed in pain a moment after.

‘If you don’t mind helping me now…’ he said through gritted teeth.

I pulled myself up, standing up and helping him to lie down. Sherlock groaned quietly, but didn’t say a word when I tore apart his shirt to see a round lacerated wound surrounded by a growing bloodstain. It looked like the one who did it twisted the knife inside of his body. I pressed my lips together, pressing my hand to the wound.

‘Do you have morphine in here?’

‘I used to,’ Sherlock replied, closing his eyes. He took a small breath, ‘Mycroft trashed it all when I was gone,’

‘It’s not like I was against it,’ I sighed, looking around the room. I turned back to Sherlock, whose chest was heaving from uneven breathing, ‘Do you have any aid kit here? Mine is upstairs,’

He didn’t reply. My heart skipped a bit and my hand reached to his neck to check the pulse. I sighed in relief.

‘Sherlock, please,’ I lightly slapped him on the cheek, he frowned slightly, ‘Please, stay with me. I need your help,’ my eyes filled up with tears, ‘Where is the kit?’

He opened his eyes with an effort. His pupils dilated from pain.

‘The dresser…’

I brushed my hand through his hair, trying to distract him. His head leaned closer to my touch.

‘Bottom drawer,’

I sighed happily and giving way to a spontaneous impulse, leaned down, leaving a light kiss on Sherlock’s wet forehead.

‘Thank you,’

I rushed to the dresser, following his directions, and got out a dark box with a red cross on its cover. I got back to the bed, opening it up on the way, and put it down on the covers. I took out the antiseptic and a spool of surgical thread and let myself stop just for a second to look at Sherlock again.  
He was unconscious. A smile was stamped upon his lips.

I stayed beside his bed the whole night. The wound was serious, but thanks god no vital organs were affected. Once I handled the bleeding, I could finally calm down.  
My eyes were slowly closing, but Sherlock started getting a fever and I kept running back and forth, changing wet towels on his forehead.  
I was heading to the door to bring another one when his hand grabbed mine. I turned around to see him grimacing, his face damp with perspiration.

‘John…’ he murmured, his hand clenched on my wrist. I sat on the side, gently moving wet curls from his face.

‘I’m here,’

‘Please…’ I leaned closer to hear his whispering, ‘M-Moran…’

‘What?’ I sat up, looking at him confused. Sherlock swallowed hard and I hurried to wipe his forehead from tiny sweat drops going down his face.

‘Seb-Sebastian…’ he was going to add something more, but suddenly he leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited right on the floor.

I swore under my breath, stroking his back. When he finished, I helped him to lie back and a moment later he blacked out.  
Whoever that Sebastian was, I was more than sure I’d snap his neck at once if I stumbled upon him now.

It was almost morning when I was able to fully relax. I brought a kitchen chair and sat right next to the bed to react quickly if needed.  
Sherlock seemed to be sleeping peacefully for several hours now. I touched his forehead to check the temperature once again and took a look under the sheet to see if the bandage was clean.  
I took a deep breath and exhaled, sitting back in the chair. I couldn’t stop looking at him.

For the first time in forever, I felt calm and happy. Sherlock was here. Yes, he was badly injured. Yes, he looked tired and broken. But he was here. He was here next to me and it was enough.  
It was enough to just hold his hand, his fingers twitching around mine, listening to him raving and calling my name so tenderly as he’d never do sanely.  
I was trying to get enough of that brief intimacy, knowing perfectly well that when he wakes up, he probably won’t remember anything at all. And I was okay with that. I accepted the fact that he would never love me back a long time ago. It was hopeless right from the start.

"I am flattered by your interest, but I consider myself married to my work,"

I opened my eyes. I didn’t even notice that I fell asleep. My eyes darted to Sherlock, but he was still asleep, his breathing slowed down to normal.  
Now when the adrenaline stopped pumping, the terrible smell of rotting stung my nostrils. I suppressed the urge to vomit and looked around to find the source of the smell. My gaze fell on the black bag under the window. I completely forgot about it.  
I slowly approached it as if it could open up and something would jump out of it. I held my breath as the smell grew stronger with each step. I leaned down and grabbed the zipper, pulling sharply.  
I almost jumped back with my hand pressed over my mouth. A wave of complete horror and disgust covered me, my eyes glared at the freaking human hand peeking out of the whole. My hands were shaking and I barely managed to close the bag and kick it back with my feet, pushing it away to the wall.

My thoughts were muddled by a growing heaviness inside me. Nothing made any sense. Or maybe it did.  
I slowly turned around to look at Sherlock.

"Once you eliminate the impossible…"

I took a step back, my back bumping into the wall. I felt ice creeping into my stomach.

"…whatever remains,..."

I swallowed, feeling my whole world crumbling around me.

"…no matter how improbable,…"

The events of recent weeks have formed into one picture like a puzzle.

"…must be the truth,"

When Sherlock woke up, I wasn’t there.  
I couldn’t stay there any longer.  
There is a line and he crossed it.  
‘One day we’ll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there,’  
I hated the fact that Sally freaking Donovan was right. She was right all along. And I was just a fool, who was too blinded by his own loneliness and the promise of a thrilling adventure.


	5. The First Real One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings to you, my fellow johnlockians, who came here to read some fantasy of mine :D This chapter isn't that long, but it's one of my favourites for now because of the warmth it has (let's hope I won't decide to ruin everything at once hehe).  
> Enjoy reading and as always, all the love XOX

Now…

I barely opened my eyes, shutting them back at once. The sunlight had already brightened the whole room and I desperately tried to hide my face from it in the pillow. When my attempts fully failed, I forced myself to sit up in the bed, rubbing my eyes.

The place next to me was empty. Instead, there was a spare set of Sherlock’s home clothes at my feet. Initially, I looked around for my underwear, but gave up and got up, putting on a dark blue t-shirt that I was almost drowning in and a pair of loose striped pants just like that. My eyes met their reflection in the mirror in front of me. I bet Sherlock found the biggest clothes he had for me.  
I sighed, accepting my fate and pushed the door open as quietly as I could.

He was in the kitchen, standing with his back to me. There was a delicious smell of fried bacon and toasts in the air and my stomach responded with a loud rumbling.  
Sherlock turned around, smiling widely.

‘Hungry?’

‘A little,’ I felt my cheeks burning. I licked my lips, approaching him. I still felt like everything that happened last night was a dream and had no idea how to act around him. I leaned on the countertop with one hand, watching him flip the bread on the pan, ‘How is your stomach?

‘Better, thank you,’ Sherlock smirked, looking at me, ‘You aren’t sure if your stitches survived the night, are you?’

I bit my lower lip, looking down and after weighing the pros and cons for a moment, proceeded.

‘You won’t get away with this so easily, Sherlock,’ I held my breath and put my hand over his. I felt him slightly startling and I looked up to see him blinking at an inhuman speed, ‘I want to know the truth,’ 

For a second I thought I broke him like a Waldo, but then he turned off the stove and fully turned to me, grabbing both of my hands in his. I stood there, frozen, while Sherlock bent to leave a light kiss on them and looked up at me. My eyebrows went up in surprise and all I could think of is how not to black out right here and right now.

‘I know. And you deserve to know…’ he let go and turned from me with his back, ‘But you will regret tonight if I tell you,’

‘I know for sure that I won’t,’ I laid my hand on his shoulder, ‘Nothing will make me regret it,’

Sherlock turned around, frowning. Then he put his hands on my waist, carefully pulling me closer, and looked right into my eyes, not moving any closer as if he was asking for permission. I licked my lips, looking down at his and nodded affirmatively, giving him a quick encouraging smile.

It was the first time I saw Sherlock hesitating. He was just standing there, looking at my lips and I could only imagine what was going on in his great mind.

At last, he got closer and I closed my eyes.

And he kissed me. Sherlock Holmes kissed me. I needed a moment for it to settle in my mind.

It didn’t feel like a thousand butterflies inside. Instead, I felt incredible… relief. Like I’ve been holding my breath for years and finally, I was able to breathe out. Like I’ve finally been set free.  
I sent everything to hell and grabbed his face with my hands, pulling him as close as possible. Sherlock let out a little amazed moan and I swear to God his knees buckled a little when I used my tongue. Even though he would never admit it.  
I was kissing him hard, but at the same time softly as if I tried to show him what storm of emotions was born inside of me every time he was around. Every time he looked at me. Every time he called my name.

‘T-That was my first kiss,’ Sherlock mumbled when we let go, our foreheads resting on each other. I couldn’t help, but smile to myself, ‘My first real one,’

I moved back, my eyes meeting with his. I pressed my lips together, trying to hold back laughter, touched. He looked like a confused teenager, who let his guard down for the first time. He was one after all.  
‘Felt like the first real one for me too,’ I said smiling, watching his eyes light up.

Suddenly he closed his eyes and I could see them moving fast underneath the eyelids. I touched his cheek, getting concerned in earnest. What if showing weakness is not prescribed in the instructions to Sherlock’s mind?

But the second I touched him, he opened his eyes. A pleased smile slowly spread across his face.

‘What is it?’

‘I placed the memory in my mind palace,’ Sherlock moved closer, burying his nose in my hair, ‘So it will stay there forever,’

I bit my lip, thanking heavens he couldn’t see my face right now. I bet I was blushing like a schoolgirl.

‘I hope it is in plain sight,’

‘Believe me, it is,’

I can’t tell for how much time we stood like that. I breathed in the scent of his skin. It was a mixture of his own and a coconut shower gel. This bastard used mine again. I chuckled, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. Sherlock responded with a light stroking down my back.

All of a sudden Sherlock moved away and grabbed me by the shoulders, gazing into my eyes.

‘Today. Nine o’clock. On Barth’s rooftop,’

I swallowed, trying to get rid of unpleasant associations.

‘Why there?’

‘Because that’s where my lies started. And that’s where they are going to end,’

I nodded, sighing and tilting my head questioningly.

‘Is it a date?’

‘We had so many and still, you can’t recognize them,’ Sherlock smiled fondly and turned back to our nearly burnt by now breakfast, ‘Do you think order-in works at 8 am?’

I feel like I’ve been completely useless today. Sarah didn’t say anything to me, but the way she looked at me was very, very expressive. I couldn’t concentrate at all and kept thinking about Sherlock the whole day even though I went to work to get distracted from him in the first place.

When I said I would never regret what happened, I didn’t lie. I’d never do it: I dreamt about it for years. But now when the endorphin levels in my blood lowered, I found myself completely not ready for whatever Sherlock was going to tell me.  
Maybe I should just stay in the dark and enjoy what we have. Pretend that I didn’t see him dissolving arms of the main suspect in a murder in aggressive acids in our kitchen right after the breakfast. Keep ignoring Lestrade’s calls. I have nothing to tell him anyway, I don’t know anything.

I closed my face with hands, leaning on my table and taking a deep breath.  
“You need to make up your mind, John Watson,”

All I knew is that I wanted to trust Sherlock again. Fully, without hesitation. And to do so I need to know what was the reason for him to evolve from a high-functioning sociopath to a high-functioning serial killer.

A light knock on the door distracted my thoughts from eating up my brain from the inside. I looked up to see Sarah’s face showing in the small gap of the opened door.

‘John?’

‘Yes?’

‘I think we are done for today. Most of the patients left are Jane’s. We are free to go,’

‘Hm... That’s great, thanks,’ I gave her a light smile, pointing at the pile of papers before me, ‘I still have some work to do, so I think I’ll stay for a bit,’

‘You sure?’ I was going to say “yes”, but something in the way she looked at me, biting her lower lip awkwardly, made me remain silent, ‘I was going to ask you if you wanted to maybe… Have a drink?’  
I only opened my mouth and she was already in, interrupting me.

‘It’s not a date or anything. I know that things between us… Got a little awkward after we… You know,’ she smiled, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, ‘But I think we could still stay good friends and colleges,’

‘We already are, Sarah,’ her face lightened with the most genuine smile and I couldn’t not respond to her with the same, ‘I’d love to meet for a coffee sometime. With pleasure,’

Sarah quickly said her goodbyes and disappeared behind the door. I sighed heavily, closing my eyes.

“With pleasure. Once I get everything sorted out with my weird kind of a boyfriend,”

I walked out of the hospital when it was somewhere after half-past eight. The streets were wet cause of recent rain that was still falling about half an hour ago. Sidewalks were shining in the soft light of the street lights that just turned on. I turned up the collar of my coat, trying to shut out the cold humid wind coming right to my face, and hid my hands in the pockets.  
I had not taken above a couple of steps before I heard a loud beep coming from my pocket. I took my phone out and its screen immediately got covered with tiny water drops.

“I am waiting.  
Are you sticking to the tradition for one of the sides (usually, female) to be late?  
\- SH.”

I chuckled to myself, biting my lip. I quickly texted back.

“I am busy considering if I should break up with you over a text at the moment.”

His response was immediate.

“Another teenage tradition. Grow up, John.  
\- SH.”

I shook my head, texting back.

“You are unbearable.”

Beep.

“You had a different point of view tonight.  
\- SH.”

I hid my phone in the pocket, waving to the passing cab. I was lucky enough for it to stop and in less than 10 minutes I got out of the car and turned around, standing there motionless.

The Barth’s looked exactly as I remembered. Some of its narrow tall windows glowed in straight rows, lightening up the dark street. My eyes involuntarily went up to the edge of the roof and everything went cold inside of me. Memories like flashes played back in my brain and I closed my eyes to get rid of the image that I could still see too vividly.  
Voices echoed in my head when I passed the pavement where two years ago I watched the person that was my whole world leave me. 

“Let me through… Please, he’s my friend…”

I pressed my lips together, pulling myself together. I looked up at the ancient arch absorbing the night sky above me while pushing the door open and going in.

Where it all started. It was going to end. And all I could do was hoping that I wouldn’t lose Sherlock again. This time irreversibly.


	6. The Barth's Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Glad to see you back reading my stuff hehe  
> This chapter is so tense, I literally listened to every angsty song I could while writing it :D  
> Since it's so complex it took me quite a long time to finish it, I'm sorry for the waiting (shorter than waiting for another season of Sherlock tho lmao).  
> I want to dedicate this chapter to an amazing girl Zara, who hypes me up like crazyyy and is always so happy to see me posting (love you girl)  
> So yeah, enjoy this because the drama's gonna increase from now on ;)  
> All the love XOX

I was walking down the corridor lightened up by the long flickering lights, looking around and feeling like some kind of a thief. The Barth’s was officially closed for visitors now and actually, I had no rights to be in here, just like Sherlock, even though it never really bothered any of us. But after his “death” I felt like there was no point to come here. Not like I wanted to.

My eyes locked on a wide white door with two tiny windows in it. Morgue. I stopped unwillingly as I approached it. I felt a sudden cold shiver down my spine. The main lights inside were out, but I still could see somebody’s corpse underneath a white sheet.

 

‘You don’t have to do this, John,’

Greg smiled slightly, putting his hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t even look at him. I didn’t want to see his eyes filled with unfailing condolence. I hated this. Everybody was giving me that look, but I never knew what they expected me to act to it like.

Somewhere deep down inside I still couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that he was… He was gone.

‘I can do it for you,’

‘No,’ my voice cracked and I cleared my throat quickly, nodding to myself, ‘I need to do this,’

Greg also nodded, his lips pressed together as he turned away for several seconds and I heard him sniffing the air abruptly.

‘Doctor Watson,’ I looked up to see Mycroft now emerging from the doors. His face was as pale as the walls and you could almost see just the faintest look of sorrow on it. He always had this expression though, ‘I am very glad you were… Able to come,’

‘Of course,’ I said, taking several steps closer. Greg caught up with me, blinking fast.

I had to take several breaths before I could let out even a word. I felt like something was clenching my chest. Mycroft frowned a little in disapproval. It’s not like I expected him to understand.

‘Can I see him?’

He lifted an eyebrow slightly. And something about this haughty glance made me tremble. It was so familiar that I might have frozen for several seconds and only roused myself when Mycroft cleared his throat loudly.

‘Please,’

He turned around and pushed the door open, letting us go inside first.

It was so cold inside and the only smell felt in the air was the smell of medications. I slowly passed the wall covered in plenty of metal doors, behind every single one of which was a human life. One of the doors was open.

I stopped, breathing heavily. Molly Hooper was standing right next to a retractable table. She forced a smile for me and took several steps back.

My eyes slid down to the end of the sheet, where dark-brown curls were visible. Suddenly it was as if I had received an electric shock. I started back, bumping into Greg, who gave me a concerned look. He must have asked me something, but I couldn’t hear him. All I could think of were the curls under the white fabric.

‘John?’ I felt a slight pat at my back, ‘John, you okay?’

‘I…I…’ I had a sudden chocking feeling, eyes slowly filling with tears and I could barely see anything before me now. Everything started fading to black.

“Want to see some more?” a voice said in my head. I bit my lip, trying to pull myself together. I took a step closer, my hand reaching forward. I could feel Molly staring at my trembling fingers.

My fingertips almost touched the white surface.

“Oh god, yes,”

I forced myself to grab the sheet. My heart was thumping against the chest.

“You are disappointed in me,”

A tear rolled down my cheek. I shook my head, my eyes closed. “Please, not him, not him…”

“It’s a good deduction, yeah,”

My fingers slowly pulled the fabric down. His livid, motionless body looked so surreal like it could vanish into thin air any moment. He was so different from the Sherlock I knew: restless, irascible and truly magnificent to watch in action. I couldn’t believe this man, who looked like he was carved from the stone was my friend. My best friend.

I could barely breathe. My hand touched his stone-cold cheek and I smiled ruefully: my body still quivered to his every touch. And I refused to believe it was the last time.

“Don’t make people into heroes, John, heroes don’t exist,”

My fingers slipped down to his chin and I could feel that I completely lost it.

“And if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them,”

A hero is someone, who people believe in.  
If only I could talk to him just once more. If only I could tell him that he was a hero. He was my hero. He was always enough for me. The hell with all of his flaws. At that moment I was just looking at his closed eyes and all I could think of was that I would sell my soul to meet his blue-eyed gaze once again.

The tear fell on his pale skin and slid down the cheekbone.

I looked up to see if anyone was watching: Molly and Greg were quietly talking beside the opposite wall while Mycroft was looking at them with much curiosity, but was probably too proud to join them.  
I leaned closer, just a few inches before Sherlock’s face.

I knew it was ridiculous. I knew that it was too late, but I just couldn’t help it. I needed to know that I told him. Even if he couldn’t hear me.

‘I am so sorry…’ I took a deep breath, moving away tangled curls from his forehead. I tried to ignore enormous wound underneath them; even though it was washed, it still gave me chills when I looked at it, ‘I should’ve… I should’ve stayed with you,’

I heard the doors closing quietly behind my back.

‘I should’ve stayed with you even though you acted like a total jerk,’ I said, my body starting to shake.

I was angry at myself for leaving. Angry at him for pissing me off. Angry at Moriarty for coming back when I was about to…  
“Who are you lying to, John?! You would never tell him. Because you are a freaking coward!”  
I stood up, hardly breathing and turned away, the waves closing over me.  
I covered my face with my hands, growling in despair. It was all my fault and I had no one to blame for it.

I turned around, barely being able to see Sherlock’s body and clenched my fists. On an impulse I hit the metal wall and bit the lower lip, trying to ignore the dull ache in the knuckles. I looked down at Sherlock and suddenly I felt annoyed as if he was ignoring me and my feelings just like he did when he was…  
I gave a deep groan, looking at his emotionless face.

‘Sherlock, please… I am begging you,’ my own voice sounded alien to me, ‘Stop this. Stop this now because I’m…’ I pressed my lips together, shaking my head, ‘I can’t do this. I just can’t,’

His only answer was silence. I chuckled at myself. I don’t know what I expected. But for some reason, I was disappointed.

I turned around to see Greg’s face in the window before it disappeared. He probably thought I was beating up the corpse here or something.

I looked back at Sherlock. What did I have to lose?

My fingers wrapped around his. I squeezed his hand, my eyebrows meeting in the middle.

‘One more miracle for me, Sherlock,’ I took a sharp breath, ‘Come back to me. That is all I’m asking for and all that I need,’

At once I staggered back in horror. I pressed my hand to my chest.

“No, no… It can’t be…”

I almost ran out of the room, bumping into Greg again. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could, but he was holding me by the elbow.

‘John!’ he cried, his eyes squeezing my arm, ‘John, calm down! What happened?’

‘N-Nothing,’ I swallowed, feeling Molly’s and Mycroft’s stares. My breath grew short and I couldn’t make myself to take a proper one. The room was spinning before my eyes, ‘What do I need to sign?’

I probably looked like I just saw a ghost because Molly looked completely terrified. It took Greg several tries to wake her up from her trance and make her bring the form.  
Well, almost.  
I could swear I felt Sherlock’s fingers tightening on mine.

 

I shook my head, walking further. Finally, I reached the doors that led to the roof stairs. I grabbed the doorknob and pulled it to myself, when I heard the voice behind my back.

‘Oh, John, hi!’

I sighed and turned around with a rehearsed smile.

‘Hi, Molly,’

‘Strange to see you here,’ she smiled widely as she quickly approached me, holding a deep bowl with… human brains? ‘Well, both of you,’ she giggled nervously, ‘I just bumped into Sherlock on my way in some time ago,’

‘Oh yeah, right,’ I moved my eyebrows up and down, glancing at the door and thinking through the ways to escape this awkward talk, ‘Hm, so you are working late today?’

‘Yes! Sherlock asked me to, actually,’ her face brightened up with a quite proud smile and I felt slight irritation, ‘He said he’d be needing the rooftop for something and I stayed to be the one, who locks it up today,’

‘Nice,’ I said, expressively pulling the door open a bit more, ‘Well, I better be off. You know he hates to wait,’

‘That’s true,’ she said and I could barely contain myself by now. “Like she had any clue…”, ‘Bye!’

‘Later!’

I slammed the door after me, taking a deep breath before starting to get up the narrow stairs. 

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Molly. And in the beginning, her feelings for Sherlock and her willingness to help him at first call were adorable, but over the years it started to slightly annoy me.  
I know it’s not easy to move on from my own experience, but seeing her constantly trying to flirt with him even if he didn’t respond was the last thing I wanted to see.

I took the final step and pushed the dark metal door open. The wind immediately hit me in the face and I hurried to close the door behind me.

‘You came,’

I turned around to see Sherlock, his eyebrows and corners of his lips slightly raised. He reached his hand out and I took it, holding my breath. I feel like it became my initial reaction to any interaction with him.

‘You sound surprised,’

‘I really am,’ he chuckled, looking down at our intertwined fingers, ‘I wasn’t sure if you had changed your mind or…’

‘Just tell me everything before I faint here, okay?’ I smiled and Sherlock looked up, looking back at me so fondly that I could barely recognize him. I never thought he was capable of such things.

‘I’ll try,’ he started to go backwards, looking straight to my eyes as we came closer to the edge. I stopped, frowning. Sherlock tilted his head, ‘Do you trust me?’

‘I do,’ I opened my mouth and froze for a moment, not willing to sound stupid, but then continued, ‘But can you please not stand so close to…’

‘Oh, sorry,’ he came closer to me, taking both of my hands and stroking my knuckles with his thumb, ‘I know this place is not really your favourite. But I wanted to tell you what happened here, where it all began. Just the two of us,’

Sherlock sighed, blinking fast and I could see how nervous he was so I squeezed his hands slightly, trying to comfort him. He smiled quickly and then looked up, his eyes shining in the moonlight.

‘Several weeks before I got a message from Moriarty,’ my muscles tightened. Only the mention of this name made me fill in with rage every time. It meant there was nothing good to expect, ‘He said that he planned something massive towards the whole England and not even Mycroft would be able to stop him. And he needed my help…’

‘Your what?’ my eyes widened as Sherlock let go my hands and frowned, looking even more lost than before.

‘He said that he wouldn’t be able to do it without me,’

‘And you said yes?’ I said bewildered. Sherlock shook his head, hurrying to continue.

‘I refused immediately saying that whatever he’s up to, I’ll figure it out and stop him. I thought it was over, but then a week later…’ Sherlock swallowed, looking up at me, ‘Do you remember the night you were attacked on your way home?’

My mouth slowly opened in shock as I remembered that evening.

 

I was about to turn around the corner of our house when I felt a sudden strong push on my back causing me to fall face forward. And before I could get up and understand what happened, someone grabbed me by the arm and turned me on my back, planting a brutal shot to the face.  
Everything went spinning before my eyes and I tried to attack back, but was rewarded by several more punches in the chest and ribs. I groaned in acute pain, not able to strike back: it was so dark I could barely see the silhouette of the attacker.  
He gave me some more really planned through punches (all of them were meant to disarm me and succeeded at it perfectly) and disappeared as fast as he came.

It took me several minutes to force myself to get up, supporting myself against the wall. I took a bunch of small breaths, grimacing from pain every time and managed to make my way to the door of our flat, practically falling onto it.  
The street was so empty and quiet that I started to doubt if it’s not some kind of a strange dream. But the pain was real. I knocked on the door, leaning against the doorpost. I closed my eyes, seeing spots.

The door opened and a soft light brightened me and the pavement before it. I opened my eyes to see Sherlock’s astonished face.

‘John?’

‘Sherl...’ I couldn’t finish the sentence. My legs went weak and he barely managed to catch me before I hit the floor.

 

‘It was his work?’ I asked, starting to fume mad. This madman never failed to amuse me.

Sherlock nodded.

‘Sebastian Moran. His errand boy. He used to be…’

‘Secret services, I know,’ I interrupted, lowering my head and running a hand over my face, ‘I read his file…’

‘Moriarty said it was just the beginning and if I didn’t surrender, he would hurt you much more,’ I looked up, meeting his eyes filled with a strange mix of sadness and pity. I snorted.

‘I can stand up for myself. And it was just a few bruises,’

‘He almost beat you to a pulp! What choice did I have?’

‘You could’ve talked to me!’ I cried, shaking my head in outrage, ‘You could’ve told me about everything and we would sort it out together!’

‘You don’t understand,’ he said, taking a step back and pointing at the building across the street, ‘Right here was sitting an assassin who would’ve killed you without even blinking if I did anything out of plan! I had no time for talking!’

‘A plan, huh?’ I stepped closer, looking right into his eyes and fighting the urge to punch him right in the face, ‘You had the time to come up with a perfect plan to fool everyone and pretend you were dead with your psychopathic friend, but no time to tell me?!’

‘If I told you, you would try to stop me,’ Sherlock said sullenly, he glared, ‘I could not let you get into this,’

‘Oh really? Don’t you tell me you did it only cause you cared for me,’ I clenched my fists, almost spitting the words at him, ‘You wanted it. You were bored and ran off with someone, who would fulfil your desires. Someone who would entertain you the way you like,’

Instantly his hand grabbed my arm and squeezed it so hard I almost let out a moan. Sherlock’s eyes were burning me with a look full of anger and some strange desire. I bit my lip, my eyes going up and down from his eyes to his lips.

‘Everything I’ve ever done,’ he said with stress upon every word, ‘I did for you,’

I felt like I was about to fall. The only thing that was still holding me up was Sherlock’s hand squeezing my arm. His uneven breath on my lips and his eyes piercing made me forget about everything. Everything he had done. At that exact moment, I was ready to turn blind eye to it and be with him whatever it took.  
I found myself staring at his lips for about a minute now.

‘How do I know it’s not another lie?’ I whispered. Sherlock’s mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to do or say something.  
But the sudden voice from the back made us wheel around.

‘Well, hello, gentlemen,’

Before I could see the source of the sound Sherlock frowned and pushed me back with one arm, standing before me like a shield.  
A man walked out from the shadows and we saw a tall blond man with his arms wrapped on his chest, smirking.

‘Sebastian Moran. Pleased to meet you, Dr Watson,’


	7. The First Horseman of the Apocalypse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, honey bees!  
> I am honoured to present you a new chapter of this thrilling AU of mine :)  
> This is officially the last chapter with jumping in time: from this chapter on it's going to be just one storyline unfolding and I am hella excited about writing it (I can't even predict myself what's gonna happen haha).  
> So, please enjoy and tell me what you think ;)  
> All the love XOX

‘John,’ Sherlock said, his voice trembling and his eyes fixed on the man, ‘Stay back,’

‘C’mon now, Sherlock,’ Sebastian smiled, ignoring him and looking straight at me, ‘I am just trying to get acquainted with your precious boyfriend. Don’t be rude,’ 

He took several steps closer, slightly leaning to the front with a sly conspiratorial wink.

‘He told me a lot about you,’

I reflexively grabbed Sherlock’s hand and he wrapped his fingers around mine at once. Moran looked down at our hands and laughed to himself sarcastically.

‘What do you want?’ Sherlock said through his teeth.

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in the air in surrendering gesture.

‘I am here because Jim sent me. Believe me, I had enough of you the last time we were getting rid of that Underwood guy,’ he sighed with a theatrical vast sigh, ‘He was so loud and problematic, wasn’t he?’

‘I told you that was the last thing I did for you,’ Sherlock said grimly. Moran shook his head.

‘I am not here because of you, silly,’ he grimaced like Sherlock said something incredibly stupid and then nodded in my direction, ‘I am here because of him,’

I frowned confused. I expected anything, but Jim Moriarty needing me.

‘It’s never going to happen,’ Sherlock said, getting his attention while my hand slowly slipped into the inner pocket of my jacket. With a lifestyle like ours it was always handy to have a gun with yourself, ‘The deal was that John stays out of this,’

‘It’s none of my business,’ Sebastian gave us a dreary sigh, ‘I am just following boss’ orders. And I am not leaving without getting what he wants,’

I clenched my teeth, watching him and slowly pulling out the gun. Suddenly he looked at me and tilted his head. Something about his gaze turned my heart cold in terror. I was very familiar with that crazy look.

‘If I were you, I wouldn’t do that,’ I froze, breathing heavily. Moran’s face broke into a disturbing smile, ‘You are not the only one with unpredictable reflexes here, Dr Watson,’

Moran slowly moved towards one of the sides of the roof and casually looked down as if he forgot about us for a moment. His movements were sharp, but completely silent: typical walk of a military man. You didn’t have to be good at deductions to see that his whole face was covered in scars of different depth and size. Also, his leg must have suffered a serious injury in some sort of battle and hadn’t completely healed, making him walk with a slight limp. But he still looked like he could kill anyone without even blinking.

‘Sherlock, dear… Do you remember what happened to you the last time you didn’t listen to me?’ Sebastian said, as if by chance hitching up his jacket and revealing an enormous hunting knife. It threateningly flashed in the moonlight and the memory of Sherlock’s white shirt slowly being painted with his dark-red blood made me flinch. The blood was pumping in my veins and I had to clench my fists to try to keep myself focused, ‘Do you really want that to happen again?’

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but from the expression on his face, I knew he would say something scathing and get us both killed in no time. I squeezed his hand to stop him and swallowed, already regretting about what I was about to say.

‘I will do it,’ Sherlock turned around at me with a look like I was insane. Well, even if I was, he was the one to blame for that, ‘Whatever it is, I will do it,’

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he whispered, his eyes widened, ‘It’s madness,’

‘I have no choice,’ I replied and I could see it in his eyes that he knew it too. I pressed my lips together, frowning, ‘I can’t lose you again,’

Sherlock stared at me for a moment with an unreadable expression. His hand was still holding mine and I could feel his fingers tightening around my palm. I couldn’t understand what he was thinking about, but his eyes were filled with a strange inexpressible sadness like he knew something, but couldn’t say it out loud.

‘Charming,’ Moran smirked, turning around and moving towards the exit door. He stopped for a moment and looked back in our direction, ‘We will be in touch,’

The door slammed after him, leaving us to stand in complete silence.

Sherlock took a deep breath, pulling me in a tight hug and hiding his face in my neck. He trembled.  
I closed my eyes, frantically trying to calm my heart that was mad bumping into my chest down.  
The city kept living its nightlife behind our backs, not knowing that its end had just begun.

 

Sebastian was quickly moving down the narrow corridor and passing countless metal doors on the sides. Near each one of them were standing guards like pieces of furniture, as useful, as impersonal and as silent.  
Moran knew no names and there was no point in learning them: every two-three weeks they died getting their work done or were killed for not doing it. Simple, but effective motivation.  
He reached the big blurred glass door and reached out to knock, but stopped. There was no need. The only reaction possible if now was the bad mood time was something heavy to be thrown at you once you enter. You could only hope it’s not the bad mood time.

Sebastian quietly opened the door and walked in, closing it after himself.  
The lights were out, but the room was lightened up by the lights of the night London: the walls were fully made of glass and there was only one heavy scarlet curtain that was usually unfolded during the day or important meetings.  
The dark-wooden table was fully covered by numerous opened folders. Most of them contained photos and all information about a significant person or organization. It’s funny how just one thin folder could destroy a life, if it got to wrong hands.

Moran came closer to the table to look at the folder, the insides of which were messed up more than any other and took the black and white picture to his hand. He chuckled, not surprised.  
That Sherlock guy really got into boss’ head. Sebastian couldn’t understand what was so special about him: pain in ass junkie, whose pressure point was his little soldier gofer. Clear as day. Yet he couldn’t stop talking about him and it was driving Moran crazy sometimes.

‘What are you doing here?’

The quiet gentle voice didn’t suit Jim at all. But it always helped him to fool the ones, who needed to be fooled.

‘I am done with the soldier boy,’ Sebastian looked at Jim, satisfied, who has just walked around the table and slumped into a chair, exhausted, ‘He’s with us,’

‘Predictable,’ he said, reaching out for the folder with one hand, while the other slipped to the top drawer and took out another photo. Jim put it together with the first one and stared at them for a moment, not blinking. He looked up at Sebastian and slowly smiled, ‘Sherlock said it would work,’

‘I am not sure if we can trust him, boss,’ Moran frowned, folding his arms on his chest, ‘If he’s lying even to the closest person he has, how can we be sure he’s not lying to us?’

‘Because I’ve seen his eyes,’ Jim replied, turning to the window in his chair, and it took Sebastian all of his self-control not to roll his eyes, ‘He’s just like us,’

‘I hope you’ll be happy together…’ Moran mumbled, biting his cheek from the inside. 

Moriarty turned around, a wide smirk on his face.

‘Are you jealous, Seb?’

‘You wish,’

‘You know he’ll never be a competition to you,’ he shrugged his shoulders, ‘But he’s important. Without him and Johnny, we won’t finish what we started all these years ago,’

Sebastian nodded, irritated.

‘In the end, that’s the reason I took you out of that Iraq hell,’

‘The only reason?’ Moran asked, lifting his eyebrow. Jim laughed, turning back to the window again.

‘Of course,’ he replied, ‘Now go kill someone or whatever you do in your spare time. I need to think,’

 

Three weeks later…

 

I couldn’t believe it. My ears started ringing and I couldn’t look away from my hands, shaking and fully covered in blood. I watched it run down my fingers and fall down on the concrete floor. And I felt satisfaction.

I heard someone’s quick footsteps getting louder and finally, Sherlock ran into the room and stopped as if suddenly rooted to one spot. I looked at him, breathing heavily and saw his eyes, widening when he noticed the body on the floor.  
He looked back at me and burst out laughing, his eyebrows going up.

‘John, dear, that’s not what I meant when I said to disarm him,’ he smiled in an ingratiating way, taking several steps closer. His eyes went back to the body, but the expression on his face didn’t change even a bit, and then back to me, ‘You don't think that's overdoing it a little?’

‘It was hard to stop,’ I whispered, still out of my breath. 

Sherlock grinned knowingly, reaching out his hand, and pulled me closer, grabbing by the waist. He cupped my face in his hands and ran his fingers over my cheeks. I could feel the sticky fluid moving on my skin.  
Suddenly Sherlock bent over and pressed his lips firmly to mine. My head started spinning a little as I felt the metallic taste on my lips and tongue. I closed my eyes and kissed him as hard as I could, drowning my fingers in his hair.  
It was like some sort of competition: our tongues were fighting for dominance and it was slowly growing into something more.  
I wanted to lose myself in him completely. I wanted to forget about the halfway through mission and just stay here and now forever: Sherlock’s hands gripping my hips and pressing his against mine, the taste of blood that we now shared and my fingers pulling his hair, making him let out stifled moans.  
Finally, he moved away, breathless, and smiled widely. His eyes were sparkling with such desire that I’ve never seen before. I smirked, pleased with myself.

‘I will tear this dirty suit off you the second we get home, understood?’ Sherlock whispered. His pupils dilated, driving all the blue from his eyes. I bit my lower lip and looked up, acting like I was in deep thinking about his proposal. He growled quietly, leaving another quick kiss on my lips and biting them in passing.

‘Understood,’ I replied, trying to gently wipe off the blood smeared all over his lips with my thumb. It was hopeless.

‘Let’s get going before my brother’s annoying boyfriend shows up,’ Sherlock giggled and I pushed him in the shoulders slightly in ostentatious disapproval. He smirked and pulled out another gun from underneath his shirt, ‘Better use something faster than this,’

I looked at the knife that was still standing, blade stuck in the forehead of the guard. I squatted down and pulled it out with force, putting it under my belt. I stood up and took the gun from Sherlock’s hand. He lifted one of his eyebrows.

‘You sure you haven’t left any fingerprints?’

‘Oh piss off, would you?’ I grimaced, pushing him in the shoulder with mine, and walked out of the room while he followed, suppressing a laugh.

We just reached the corner when we heard a loud stamping of feet and I turned around to see Sherlock reloading his gun and tilting his head questioningly.

‘Having fun?’

‘Starting to,’ he replied and I gave him a look of no amusement. Sherlock looked into my eyes, reaching out and grabbing my hand, ‘Give them hell,’

I chuckled and turned around, looking out of the corner and outstretching a hand with the gun.

Boom.  
One down.

 

Present day…

 

‘Isn’t it suspicious?’ I said, putting down the newspaper while Sherlock was pouring the coffee in my cup. 

He rolled his eyes.

‘I made a drugged coffee for you just once. Can you stop being so dramatic?’

I smiled fondly, shaking my head. Sherlock sighed, taking his seat beside me and taking a bite of his toast.

‘I am not talking about that, no,’ I said, biting my lower lip to stop myself from bursting out with laughter. Considering Sherlock’s pouting it wasn’t the best choice, ‘The coffee is marvellous, thank you,’

‘Too late, never making it again,’

I glanced at him for a second before handing him the paper. He frowned, unfolding it.

‘It’s too quiet. Even the crime page is almost fully empty,’ I pointed at the small box in the corner, ‘The only distress that happened is a missing dog,’

‘Is it bad?’ Sherlock said, folding the paper back and putting it away, tilting his head, ‘I thought you weren’t very fond of anarchy and chaos,’

‘And I am not,’ I replied caustically, narrowing my eyes, ‘I just thought that selling my soul to the devil would at least change something,’

‘Believe me, John… You are going to regret it very soon,’ Sherlock said so seriously that I pressed my lips together, getting how stupid it must have sounded for him.

I sighed and laid my hand on his arm. Sherlock looked up at me and for a moment we just kept still, both thinking about something.  
At last, I pressed my lips together, frowning.

‘I… I am just scared of what’s he going to ask for,’ I said so quietly as if someone else apart from him could hear me, ‘I haven’t willingly killed a man since Afghanistan. Not sure if I can do it now and…’  
I couldn’t finish. Sherlock leaned closer, covering my hand with his and looking straight into my eyes, making me hold my breath unconsciously.

‘I don’t know what’s waiting for us, but you can be sure of one thing: I will be with you no matter what,’ his voice trembled slightly on the last words. I sighed and smiled tenderly, leaning closer and planting a light soft kiss on his lips. Sherlock answered by putting his hand on my cheek and breathing deeply through his nose.

‘Good morning, lads! Mrs Hudson opened the door for me and…’

I pulled away, still pressing my forehead against Sherlock’s, and smiled when I heard him groan, disappointed.

‘What the f-’

‘Good morning, Lestrade,’ Sherlock interrupted, getting up and looking at him unconstrainedly, ‘Fancy a coffee?’

‘D-Do you have anything stronger?’ Greg replied and I turned around to enjoy the bewildered look on his face. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

‘I have morphine,’

‘Sherlock, no,’ I said.

‘Then just coffee,’

‘Sounds nice,’ Greg said, blinking fast. He looked at me as if he was waiting for me to explain, but then just closed his eyes and threw his hands in the air, ‘It’s not like I didn’t suspect anything, but…’

‘It would be very helpful if you were just so observant at work,’ Sherlock chuckled and I shook my head disapprovingly, trying to hold back my own smile.

‘So, you were saying?’ I asked before he added anything else. Greg gave me a grateful look.

‘Ghm, Mycroft asked me to invite you to the charity evening tonight for him to...’

‘Charity? No, not really our thing. Give him our sincere apologies,’ Sherlock replied immediately. He approached me, putting his hand on my shoulder, ‘We are incredibly busy,’

‘We are absolutely not,’ I said, bringing up a storm of emotions on Sherlock’s face, but continued, ‘Why does he need us there though?’

‘He says that some important American will come and he needs you to keep an eye on him,’ Greg said, shrugging his shoulders. Sherlock grimaced like he just heard complete nonsense.

‘Why would we be interested?’

‘It’s Charles Augustus Magnussen,’

Oddly enough, just the name of this guy made Sherlock freeze. He stared at Greg for several seconds, not even blinking, and then all of the sudden stormed out of the room.

‘John! Get ready. I’ll call a cab,’ we heard his muffled voice from the bedroom, ‘We need to find you something decent to wear,’

I even felt a tiny bit jealous: just a minute ago his voice was just as trembling cause of me. And now he was running around the bedroom as excited as a child in the Christmas morning.

Greg turned to me, puzzled.

‘That wasn’t normal,’

‘There is nothing normal when you live with Sherlock,’ I sighed, getting up and heading upstairs.

The first horseman of the apocalypse just arrived at my first call.


	8. Ball of Satan Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back again :) It's been... three months? I must confess, I didn't feel like writing for a long time, but several days ago I just opened this fic and read it from the start again. And fortunately or unfortunately (decide for yourself hehe) I decided to continue. So here is a pretty big chapter, which I really enjoyed writing so I hope you'll like it too.  
> P.s.: I highly recommend listening to some classical dance music to feel the atmosphere ;)  
> So yep, go ahead and leave your feedback.  
> All the love XOX

The car’s wheels silently glided on damp asphalt carrying us further and further away from the London full of evening bustle. Streetlights and passing cars grew fewer. The narrow gloomy suburb street seamlessly turned into a deserted highway.

My eyes were fixed on the barely visible contours of fields and lonely houses behind the window, while my mind was rushing back and forth. I was familiar with this feeling: tingling sensation throughout my whole body, slightly shaking right hand, the left one - completely still. I knew what I felt. Excitement. And I hated myself for it.

I turned my head to look at Greg, who was now fixing the wiretap on the inner side of Sherlock’s jacket. Its owner, by the way, was as taciturn and focused as always. His eyes were closed, but eyeballs rapidly moved under the eyelids which likely indicated that he was calculating all possible outcomes of tonight. How thoughtful of him.

Sometimes I felt like I didn’t know Sherlock at all. Like he just let me get to know some tiny part of his character so I would piss off. And now when I finally had the chance to find out more, I was terrified. What if I find something, deep down in his soul, which will change everything? And seems like the psychopathic killer part isn’t the worst that can happen for me…

Mycroft, on the other hand, was fully engrossed in muttering something into his phone, covering it with his palm for about half an hour now. Finally, he finished and glanced back at Sherlock.

‘Please do stick to the plan, brother,’ he put the phone in the pocket and sighed as if he knew the plan was already doomed from the start, ‘Magnussen is not the best option for demonstration of your volatility and pride,’

‘Do you always have to talk like you are quoting the Britannica?’ Sherlock sniffed venomously and sat back on the sit, narrowing his eyes, ‘Your megalomania is escalating,’

Mycroft didn’t reply anything, but his eyes flashed with poorly hidden irritation. Greg cleared his throat in a pathetic attempt to defuse the situation. But it didn’t work. An awkward silence fell for a solid minute, during which Holmes brothers were having a silent battle of their boundless egos.

‘So all we have to do is to sneak into Magnussen’s office without getting caught?’ I asked. It took Sherlock a great effort to take his eyes off his rival. He tilted his head to give me a meaningful look, reminding me of our agreement. Like I could forget.

Mycroft gave me a tight smile.

‘You are welcome to do so. Your main goal is to find any proof that his unplanned vacation to England is connected with the recent activity of our well-known fellow or his people,’

‘Easy as pie,’ Sherlock replied, ‘We just need to get past dozens of security guards in a mansion stuffed with individuals, who are all, one way or another, involved in the unstable situation in our country or the whole world,’

‘Exactly. But I suppose that you two are able to take care of that, aren’t you?’

I swallowed, trying to keep a straight face. Mycroft’s eyes were now piercing me and it felt like I was being x-rayed.

‘Of course,’ surprisingly enough, my voice obeyed and he seemed to believe me.

‘If you excuse me…’

Mycroft’s phone was blowing up in his pocket again and now was impossible to ignore. He answered and his voice lowered to inaudible for human ear again. Lestrade bent over to tell something to the driver.

Suddenly, I felt cold fingers touching my palm and then clasped it, lightly squeezing. I closed my eyes, feeling a strange mix of relief and tension at the same time.

‘Are you okay?’ Sherlock asked so quietly that I doubted if I really heard it.

‘Yes,’ I exhaled, turning his way. He frowned, unconvinced. I leaned in so that our foreheads could bump into each other if the car accidentally hits a bump, ‘Not really… I…’

‘Everything will be okay,’ Sherlock lifted his hand and placed it on my cheek, making my skin crawl. I leaned forward without realizing it, ‘As long as you are on my side…’

A loud cough brought me back to reality. The car wasn’t moving anymore and I could hear loud music muffled coming from outside. More importantly, I felt two pairs of eyes staring at us. I backed away harshly, trying to ignore Greg and Mycroft’s shocked face expressions and Sherlock stifling a snicker.

‘Did you just - ’

My face was burning and I hurried to get out of the car as fast as I could.

It was colder than I had expected and suddenly I realized that my coat was still inside. I folded my arms, trying to ignore my teeth chattering. Freezing to death seemed more appealing than explaining my behaviour to Sherlock’s older brother.

I tried to focus on the truly enormous building before me. An ancient three levelled mansion, the roof of which was supported by a row of Roman columns, was lightened up by additional lights at its base. The high windows of the first floor must have belonged to the living room.  
Behind the translucent curtains, the numerous silhouettes of guests were moving around, indicating that the party must have been in its full swing. Even so, the driveway was full of continually arriving fancy cars and their owners hurrying to the main entrance.

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable in the suit that Mycroft kindly lent me for this evening. The dark blue fabric, fitted too close to my body, was making me feel exposed. I couldn’t get rid of the thoughts about how obvious I must look in my “disguise”. The last time I wore a tuxedo must have been my father’s funeral. Not the best memories for sure.

I heard the car door behind me open and then close. I turned around, but it already disappeared in the darkness of the night.

I felt a heavy coat landing on my shoulders. Sherlock still had a very pleased look on his face as he grabbed me by the arm and pulled in the direction of the house.

‘Don’t worry. They’ve done worse things. Much worse…’ he grinned and then leaned in to whisper in my ear, ‘I suggest we resume after we are done here,’

‘Ghm,’ I cleared my throat, wrapping the coat around myself better, but noticed the red stitches around the buttonhole. I frowned, puzzled, ‘Sherlock, that’s not my coat,’

‘Obviously. I thought it would suit you better than my brother’s,’

At once, I was thankful that it was dark enough for Sherlock not to see that my skin colour turned five shades redder.

‘That is quite a rabble, isn’t it?’

‘Rabble?’ I chuckled, pointing at the blond man that held a woman that could be his daughter by the waist, standing before us in the queue to get in, ‘Isn’t that Boris Johnson?’

‘Am I supposed to know him?’

‘Well, you are. It’s our prime minister,’ I shook my head, sighing. Sherlock arched his eyebrows, ‘You said he looks like the orange American guy and turned off the TV, remember?’

‘Not a chance…’ he replied absently.

We approached the man by the doors. When he was done with the previous guests, he turned to us, a forced smile appearing on his face.

‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ the butler gave me a cool glance, chill emanating from his hazel eyes, and then looked up at Sherlock, ‘Your names please?’

‘Mycroft Holmes,’ he said, raising his chin in the coldest manner possible. For a moment, I could see the resemblance, but it was gone at once.

The man looked down at his list, his finger going down the black lines. Finally, he found what he was looking for and made a little mark. He looked up, looking at me questioningly.

‘And this is…?’

‘John - ’

‘Holmes,’ Sherlock rattled off. The butler opened his mouth to ask something, but Sherlock got ahead: his hand slid down my waist and pressed me to his thigh. My eyes widened, but I managed to put myself together before the butler looked up again, ‘John Holmes. But I’d appreciate it if this remained between us…’

‘Oh yes! Of course…’ the man looked down, his lips pressed together, uncomfortable. He turned away to push the doors open and then a rehearsed smile irradiated his face again, ‘Enjoy your evening, Mr Holmes,’

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I whispered through clenched teeth as we walked in the grand foyer. Sherlock took his coat off me with unusual gallantry and negligently threw it in the direction of the house worker, who tried his best to catch it.

‘Getting into the character,’ Sherlock replied, shrugging his shoulders, ‘And stopping you from revealing your identity, Mrs Holmes,’

I gave him a deadly look, but when he held his elbow out for me, I took it.

‘You’ll so regret it,’ Sherlock stopped, looking at me searchingly, ‘Honey,’

I pressed my lips together, holding back a burst of laughter, while Sherlock’s pale cheeks flushed barely noticeable.

‘Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?’ Mycroft’s ice tone hit me in the ear through the headset.

‘I wouldn’t hold on too much hope,’ Sherlock mumbled. He paused and looked around the room, ‘There. C’mon,’

He quickly moved towards the tall white doors on the opposite side of the room, dragging me with him.

The door flew open and we entered a spacious ballroom. Women in elegant dresses, one more pretentious than other, were chattering with their companions, while servants were offering endless glasses of champagne. Small orchestra in the corner of the room was playing some unobtrusive classical music. It was mad, it was like in a film or on the telly and I was seriously fighting the urge to ask Sherlock to pinch me.  
The splendid crystal chandelier hung motionless over our heads, gleaming brightly in the light of the candles. Two wide marble staircases led up to a gallery, from which several dozen of figures watched everything that’s going on bellow. Along the walls stood tables with refreshments, lonely guests wandering around them.

A girl with a tray came out of nowhere and offered us the drinks with such a sweet smile that I couldn’t resist smiling back and taking one of the glasses. She was about to say something, but then glanced at Sherlock and changed her mind. A second later she was gone.

I looked at Sherlock, who was still staring in her direction. His eyes were flashing and his pale face was paler still in his emotion.

‘What is wrong with you?’

‘Focus on the task, will you?’ Sherlock said, almost sarcastically, ‘Aren’t you my spouse?’ He faltered and grabbed my glass, taking a pretty big sip and grimacing immediately. After that he got rid of it, putting it on a tray of the passing-by servant.

‘For tonight,’ he finished, sounding tense.

My breath grew short and I hastened to look away. Sherlock Holmes is jealous. Or maybe he’s just a very good actor. In both cases, I felt extremely uncomfortable. That is why I was happy to hear Greg’s voice in my ear.

‘Lads, we’ve parked near the back doors,’

‘Fascinating,’ Sherlock replied. We were now both avoiding any eye contact, but I could still hear the irritation in his voice. I bit my lower lip in a wretched attempt to calm myself down.

‘It’s insignificant, Gregory,’ we heard some fuss, in the result of which Mycroft took over the mic, ‘Do you see Magnussen?’

‘Not yet,’ Sherlock looked up, his gaze circling around the second-floor balcony. I followed the direction of his glance. I had this strange feeling that I’ve already seen all of these people somewhere, but couldn’t remember where, ‘He will have to come down at some point. It’s his party, after all,’

‘Make sure you don’t stand out,’

‘Don’t worry. Sherlock is taking care of that,’ I smiled wryly.

‘Yes, I am,’ he muttered through clenched teeth, ‘Unlike someone,’

‘Stop it!’ Mycroft shushed and we scowled at each other like two kids, who got caught.

The music stopped abruptly and I felt my heart go right through my feet. A whisper has flied through the hall and the guests started exchanging quite suspicious looks. 

Did we just get ourselves exposed?

‘Sherlock?’ I whispered, ‘What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ he swallowed. My hand reflexively tightened on his arm, ‘But stay sharp,’

The silence at once became intolerably oppressive. My eyes went to the massive frames of guards, who appeared in the doorway. I could feel the outline of the gun pressed to my back under the jacket. If a brawl starts, there’s a chance I manage to take it out and...

Sound of someone’s footsteps interrupted my deliberations. One by one all of the heads looked up at the balcony. The people, who stood there before, parted hastily before the tall man, whose dead eyes looked at the sluggish with reproof.

Long, sharply-chiselled face, a goatee and high forehead made a very disagreeable impression. You could see that Mr Magnussen was used to getting anything he wanted at once. And was clearly unfamiliar with refusal. He looked like a typical businessman, but something about him made you feel vulnerable and miserable.

‘Dear guests,’ his deep voice echoed across the chamber, ‘I am glad that all of you could make it today. For such a good cause…’

Magnussen smiled wanly. His hand made a hardly noticeable gesture in the air. A whole flock of people dressed in dark inconspicuous suits immediately hurried to drag the tables and other furniture to the walls, freeing up space in the centre of the room.

‘But before we start the charity auction, it is time for our small tradition,’

A light nod and the orchestra played again. Rhythmic melody gradually made everyone pair up and glide over the parquet floor. We had to step back to the wall not to get knocked down by an extremely encouraged couple.

Now when almost all of the people were engaged in circling around, Magnussen made his way down the stairs and began the conversation with an old gentleman, who stood nearby. Even so, his examining gaze kept scanning those present.

‘John,’

Sherlock reached out his hand, his gaze sought my eyes insistently. Several seconds I just stood there, staring at him in bewilderment. Once it struck me, I started frantically shaking my head.

‘Oh no. No, no, no, no, no…’

‘Six ‘no’s?’ Sherlock asked mockingly, ‘Is dancing with me such a horrible prospect for you?’

‘No, that's not it…’ I was getting in a muddle and I knew that it was about to get worse and worse, ‘The last time I danced was my homecoming. And it certainly wasn’t waltzing…’

‘We can’t just keep standing. Magnussen isn’t blind,’

‘I-I know, but…’

‘John,’ Sherlock said and I stopped, gazing back with my best pleading eyes. His hand got closer, ‘Just follow my lead,’

I looked down at his hand and back at his face. He lifted his eyebrows and bowed slightly, steadfast. My heart was close to its stopping and I did the only thing I could. Accepting my fate, I took Sherlock’s hand and let him pull me round with him.

Caught in the thick of the crowd now, Sherlock put his hand up and I tightened mine over his. That was the first and last thing I knew about dancing waltz. I felt like everyone was staring at us now and my slowness certainly wasn’t helping.

‘Put your hand on my shoulder,’ Sherlock said with patience. I followed his directions, ‘Good. Now relax and repeat after me,’

He gently laid his hand on my waist and a moment after we were already moving, following the rhythm of the music. I grabbed him like he was a life preserver and surely stepped on his feet once or twice, but he omitted the comments.  
He was so close now that his hands, holding me tight, were the only thing that kept me from falling. I couldn’t remember what were we even doing this for. All that mattered was his other hand on my waist slowly pulling me closer to him. It was a sort of tremor, a boiling of the blood, against which no effort of the will availed anything.  
The smell of his eau-de-cologne and cigarettes made my head start spinning.  
He started smoking during solving complicated cases since he came back. And for some reason, I didn’t mind.

‘Not bad,’ Sherlock whispered and I chuckled, unconvinced, ‘Well, not as bad as I thought. Don’t compare yourself to me: I took dance classes,’

‘You did what?’

‘Dance classes. For five years,’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘My parents have a vividly expressed sadistic behaviour,’

We both laughed and I felt better. My forehead laid on his shoulder and Sherlock pressed his cheek to mine. The melody slowed down and now we were just swaying to the rhythm of the orchestra. I closed my eyes and tried to forget that we were possibly in great danger, surrounded by a considerable number of strangers and a likely criminal mastermind. 

I tried imagining just the two of us having a date. We would go to one of the countless tiny restaurants, the owners of which owed Sherlock after some shady cases, or get order-in. I’d make him watch the whole Harry Potter series or CSI just to watch him criticizing every single bit of it. Then we’d probably end up laying on the couch and debating about something till we fall asleep. And in the morning, we would wake up with terrible neck pain, Sherlock would drone about it the whole day long and several days later ask me if I was free that evening again.

But it would never happen. Because I am me, and he is him. And it will never change. Our obsession with danger brought us where we are now and my fantasies are most certainly going to stay fantasies.

I gave a bleak sigh and clutched Sherlock’s hand in despair. Deep down in my heart, I was now hoping that this tune would go on forever and we could stay here, running away from our duties.

‘John?’ Sherlock called hesitantly. I looked up and found myself several inches from his face. 

I held my breath involuntary as my eyes fixed on his lips. He smiled, noticing.

My eyes went right into his.

‘Yes?’

‘There’s something I should say before we do what we do tonight…’ he looked down for a moment, blinking fast like he was plucking up his courage. He looked up again and I could see that he was afraid, ‘I’ve meant to say, always, and I never have…’

I froze, not able to control myself anymore. Sherlock sighed deeply.

‘John, I - ’

‘Sherlock,’ I swallowed, interrupting. Sherlock frowned, cut short in the middle of a word. I couldn’t look away from a familiar face in the crowd. The man grinned the fierce grin and it gave me the creeps. Just like the last time.

‘No, John, let me finish… I - ’

‘Sherlock,’ I said, my voice stone cold. Sherlock seemed to fall into true despair.

‘What is it?’ he asked in a pained bewilderment.

‘Moran,’ his face grew suddenly grave, ‘He is here,’


End file.
